Sharpened Blades
by sentbyfools
Summary: she only came to get her blade sharpened. really; blacksmith Killian AU. This work is a series so each part (chapter) is complete.
1. sharpened blades

**title: **sharpened blades

**summary: **she only came to get her blade sharpened. really.

* * *

She only came to get her blade sharpened.

At least, that's the mantra she keeps going in her head as she watches him work at the grindstone, in nothing but a thin red vest that does nothing to hide his well-muscled arms, even though sparks fly as he pushes the pedal and turns the stone wheel.

Emma doesn't listen to the gossip that the barmaids like to toss around at the pubs, but _if_ she did, she'd say that they were right. Killian Jones is certainly as hot as the flames he works with.

As sharp as the blades too if his knowing glances are anything to go by.

"Keep your eyes on your work, Jones," she snaps, annoyed at the smirk playing on his lips.

"It's curious," he says, tone playful in a way that Emma certainly does not like, not at all, "You don't see many maidens wielding a sword in these parts."

"Who said I was a maiden?" Emma says, decidedly ignoring the way her words lilt in a tone that can almost be mistaken for _flirting_.

Light catches her eye, and she glances at the hanging swords that shine in the sunlight streaming through the holes in the roof of his shop.

When she looks back, she finds herself staring into pools of deep blue. She hadn't noticed how much they reminded her of the gems Grumpy used to gift her with - in Grumpy's way of gifting things which usually consisted of him pretending to be annoyed at the whole situation. When she'd handed over her sword, she'd given Killian merely a cursory glance to size him up, nothing more, but now she can't help staring at him. It's ridiculous, he shouldn't _even_ be looking at her while he's still sharpening her blade.

Mouth quirked up in a bemused smile, Emma says, "You're looking to lose a finger or two, aren't you?"

"How'd you guess, love?" he replies with a practically jolly grin. At her continued look of bemusement, he adds, "I've been doing this so long, I could do it in my sleep. No need to worry, my fingers will still be here for all your needs."

He winks at her, and turns back to the grindstone quickly enough that he doesn't see Emma fight the smile that pulls at the sides of her mouth.

_It's been a while_ is the new mantra that runs through her head when she finally stops pretending that she isn't attracted to him. He's hot, she's horny - it's purely physical.

She knows how this goes. She flirts a little. He flirts back. She makes it clear that if he asked, she'd say yes, and then he asks. It's the way her relationships, if you could call them that, have gone all her life. To him, she'll probably be another conquest, and to her, he'll be the same. Nothing more.

"This is your father's sword, isn't it?"

Emma freezes. Stiffly, she says, "And what would make you say that?"

"The hilt of the blade, the design. Blades like these are usually passed down from father to son, though I guess your father didn't have any sons to pass this onto, had to make do with you."

"Make do?" Her tone is measured, calm, but inside she is far from that. _Make. Do._

"Or perhaps," he plows on, "He didn't care that you weren't a boy, he was just proud to be able to gift his blade onto you. Daddy's little swordswoman."

It takes her a moment before she realizes that this was his thinking all along. She sees it in the way his mouth curves upwards at the sides as he focuses on sharpening her sword.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he says in response to her silence.

"Maybe," she replies, feeling kind of thrown off by his astuteness.

Looking to gain control of the conversation, she says, "Forging? Was that your father's work?"

"Work? My father?" Killian scoffs. "My father abandoned me and my brother when we were young. Luckily for us, we found charity with the local blacksmith who took us in like we were his own. He trained us in the art, and when we were old enough, my brother and I moved on and opened our own forge."

Emma looks around, and then turns back to him. His mouth is set in a thin line now and Emma says, "Your brother's gone, isn't he?"

"Aye," he says simply.

Silence engulfs them, and Emma looks away, wrings her hands together. She shouldn't have mentioned it. She understands what it's like to lose someone, knows it far too well - she shouldn't have mentioned it, but she needed to know. For reasons, she doesn't venture to guess, she needed to know.

Uncomfortable, Emma turns around to the swords again, studying the craftsmanship in the steel of the blades, the delicate designs on the hilts. Each and every blade is different, whether in length, size or shape. Her eyes catch sight of a pickax on the wall and she walks over to it, reminded again of Grumpy and the dwarves.

"Like that, do you?" Killian says.

She turns back to face him. Her blade rests in his lap, it's sharp edges carefully turned away from him. The grim expression is gone from his face, replaced by a curious smile. She doesn't usually share so much about herself, but the words come and she doesn't stop them.

"It just - my family, some of them, are miners. They'd appreciate this pickax far more than I would. _My_ eyes are on the swords. You're quite skilled."

"There's a lot of talent in these hands."

He wiggles his fingers, face plastered with a smirk that lacks any kind of innocence.

She could ignore it. She really could. She should. He's as much admitted that he is a man with baggage, and Emma's always avoided men like that like the plague. But there is something in his smile that makes her forget that she's supposed to be ignoring his advances.

Attraction. It's a powerful thing.

"Is there?" she says breathily. Her eyelashes flutter and damn him for turning her into _this_. Wanton. Brazen. _Shameless_.

He sets her sword down on top of his workbench and stands. Cracking his neck dramatically, he smiles invitingly, and says, "Would you like for me to demonstrate?"

She glances behind her. The door to his workshop is firmly shut, but anyone could walk in at any time. It isn't as if the door is locked, and it's still broad daylight: working hours.

_Well, that's just an added thrill, isn't it?_

She shakes her head. She is so going to regret this. She really is.

And when did he get so close?

His calloused hands are on her face before she can even think to protest. Not that she would. Not when he's rubbing circles into her skin with his fingers, the rough pad of his palm scraping against her skin. It feels good. Too good for such a simple touch.

He is staring at her too, studying her face and her cheeks and her lips like he's trying to decide how best to break her apart. Emma is all too aware of her breath, the way it forces itself out of her like she's already spread out for him.

Killian kisses her, and it's - Emma is no maiden with dreams of fairytales and princes come to sweep her off her feet - he kisses her, and it's sparks. That's all she can say to describe it. Goddamn sparks.

She kisses him back. Feverish goose bumps pimple her skin, hair standing on end. It's electric, the way his tongue swipes across her lips before dipping inside. It's disgusting how good he is at this, using his tongue to unwillingly draw a sound from her throat.

Her hands slide up his chest, holding onto the clasps of his vest. When he pulls his tongue from her mouth and tugs onto her bottom lip with his teeth, Emma _pulls_, tearing the clasp right from the fabric. He doesn't even protest, just backs away from her enough to let loose a warm chuckle, and so Emma does it again with the rest of the clasps until his torn vest is hanging from his strong shoulders.

Emma really likes his shoulders.

Actually, she thinks she may have a fetish for him in general.

Her hands run over his chest, trailing through his thick chest hair and then she's tickling the hard lines of his abs lightly with her fingers. He rubs his beard against her chin, worrying the already sensitive skin. _Like a giant cat_, Emma thinks, as he practically purrs.

"Emma," Killian says her name for the first time. When she'd entered his shop, she'd introduced herself, but he'd only referred to her as milady. But hearing her name fall from his lips...

She brushes her knuckles along his abs, kneading his skin.

His hips jolt forward, and Emma slides her hand lower until she meets the trail of hair leading downwards. She moves her head to look, to see exactly what she's doing to him. His chin rests against her forehead now, and he leans down to place a kiss in her hair. His hands have long since left her face but they don't hang loosely at his side. While she stares at his covered erection, tracing symbols into his trail, he moves his hands to her sides and pulls at her shirt until it loosens from her pants. He slips his hands under her shirt and starts to touch her as well.

His hands are perfect. Worn and broken. Emma has never liked men with perfect hands because it always denoted a man who has never had to work for anything, and a man who has never had to work for anything thinks he deserves everything.

Killian's hands though, and his touch - it's clear that he appreciates what she has to offer, and he's more interested in giving than taking.

Though judging by the way he squeezes her sides when she cups him through his pants, he wouldn't mind doing a little taking.

She laughs softly, and he catches the sound.

"Am I amusing?"

Emma starts to reply, but loses her voice when he suddenly draws his hands up to fondle her breasts.

"No-no," she says shakily as he toys with her sensitive nipples.

She closes her eyes and tries to control the strokes of her hands even as her hands start to shake from his touch.

"Ah, you _really_ like this," he says like he's made some great discovery.

"Shut it," she says. To illustrate her point, she twists her head up and slides her mouth over his again, kissing him into silence.

His finger pulls at her nipple almost hard enough to hurt. Emma likes an edge of pain sometimes, and yeah, this is definitely one of those times.

She feels her wetness seeping into her underwear and she doesn't protest (much) when his fingers leave her breasts and move down her belly to push her pants down her hips. She even (helpfully) steps out of them and her underwear. She doesn't complain when he lifts her up against him, and doesn't say a word when he carries her over to one of his empty workbenches and seats her on top of it.

She wants to keep touching him, to keep kissing him, but he pulls up and his fingers brush her clit.

He curses, and Emma might've complained when he pulls away instead of touching her to pull his pants down, but she wants him inside her, and she can worry about the rest later.

His cocks strains up towards his stomach when he drops his pants and Emma only has to reach forward to touch him once before he pushes her hands away, pressing her down onto the workbench and kissing her again. Her face is gonna feel raw tomorrow from beard burn.

Tomorrow is far, far away though and as he pulls back, she just stares at him. He tugs her up to him so that her legs are wrapped around his waist, his cock nudging against her entrance.

It's a quiet moment that passes between them then. He stares down at her, cock rubbing teasingly against her. She takes in a deep breath, and like it's a signal, he pushes in, a slow drive of his hips that makes her release the breath she took in a whoosh of air.

She keens, gripping the back of his workbench with her hands as he pulls out almost all the way. He stares at her again, mouth set in a determined line.

Emma wants to see that mouth broken open, so she pushes her hips forward, rocking back onto his cock.

_Success_, she thinks, and then her toes are curling, feet pressing against the back of his legs in a crushing grip as he forgets going slow and starts to thrust in and out of her in shallow, fast strokes.

"I - you," she starts to accuse. She didn't mean for him to - but she's not really complaining, not when it feels so good, not when his hands are holding her legs tight to him, so warm and rough against her. Not when his cock is practically ramming her up his workbench, her back wet with sweat. Not when the only thing keeping her tethered is the way he fills her up.

"You didn't actually say anything, you know."

He's laughing at her, and that just isn't fair. It's not her fault that her body is trembling. It's his. All his fault.

"You are not nice," she says, the only insult she can think of in the heat of the moment.

He chuckles this time, an actual laugh. "Now that's just rubbish. I. Am. Always. A. Gentleman," he says, punctuating each word with a deep thrust that makes a decidedly embarrassing squeak escape her mouth.

She closed her eyes, but when she opens them, she smirks because as much as he sounds like he is unaffected, his eyes tell a completely different story. They rake over her hungrily and when he finds her face, he isn't smirking, he's staring at her like he's never seen anything like her before.

Emma is honest enough to say that she enjoys that look immensely.

His mouth falls open again as he curses. Their hips slap together loudly even though the furnace crackles behind them, even though people bustle around outside.

Emma has never come from just being fucked before, but well, there's a first time for everything.

Her nails are starting to hurt from digging into the metal, but adrenaline and arousal fuel her and she takes it all, his heavy thrusts, the unrelenting harshness of the metal beneath her back. She takes it all, and _enjoys _it, laughing breathily until it turns into a breathless pant.

She comes minutes later in a silent cry. Her orgasm washes over her; it hasn't felt this good in so long, and she rocks it out, desperate to ride that high for as long as she can.

He groans again, thrusts speeding up again. Long minutes pass, and then he follows her over the edge, and Emma laughs because even though he bites his lip, she can still hear the deep moan he tries to swallow down.

"Bloody hell, Emma," he says.

He doesn't sound unaffected anymore, and Emma supposes that makes them even when she replies, "Yeah," and her voice cracks on the word.

He finally releases her and feeling draws back into her legs in pins and needles that she gently stretches out. Feeling returns to her everywhere, actually, and she sits up on the metal bench and then stands. She stretches the rest of her muscles. His seed slicks down her thighs and she looks around for something clean to wipe it away. Her eyes find nothing, just dust and ash covered rags that she wouldn't bring near her under any circumstance.

_Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to do this here?_

Her eyes return to Killian and his half naked form, and she thinks, _Oh yeah, that's why._

His hand reaches out and finds her face again. She walks slowly back to him until she's close enough to kiss him. She really wants to kiss him.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he says and acquiesces to her silent request by kissing her breathless.

* * *

"Not finished with her yet" translates to them moving upstairs to his bedroom where they screw again, not as frantic this time, but it is just as good, maybe even better because he explores her body this time, touching her all over and rubbing her clit in gentle and fast and hard and slow circles that bring her up again and again. She gets to touch him as well, and it is _wonderful_, she hasn't had fun like this in ages, hasn't enjoyed herself this much in _forever_.

When she is exhausted, and he's laying next to her, panting out his own exhaustion, she gets up and starts to get dressed. She doesn't really want to, actually wouldn't mind closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep, but she came to this town for a reason, and time waits for no man or woman.

His hand brushes her back. It feels good. She trembles (like she shouldn't). God, she _really_ likes his hands.

"Where are you off to now, love?" he asks when she turns around to face him.

"To slay a witch," she says simply.

He gives her a look, curious and oddly open.

And that's when he says like he's offering her the world, "Need an extra hand? Or two?"

Emma should say no. She is good at saying no. She has never needed help, doesn't need help now, but no one has ever offered before, and she wants to -

She wants to say yes.

And she _has_ been saying yes to him since she entered his shop.

_Best not to break the pattern_, she thinks.

"Sure."

* * *

**end notes: **but like imagine them fighting witches (and all kinds of bad things) together, hansel and gretel: witch hunters style. awesome right? yeah, yeah.


	2. you may now kiss the bride

**title: **you may now kiss the bride

**summary: **sequel to "sharpened blades." Emma is going to strangle him with her bare hands. Just as soon as they're free, of course.

**notes: **I have lost control of my life and turned this into an actual H&G: WH AU.

* * *

Most of the villagers assume that they're married.

Emma wouldn't get so annoyed with it except Killian takes it so easily, like it is just another thing he is willing to do for her. She doesn't need him to be her husband, just like she didn't need him to come with her. In fact, she doesn't need his help at all.

"Then what in the bloody hell do you need, Emma?" he shouts at her.

"Currently, an escape plan would be nice," she deflects easily enough.

They're chained together on a conveyor belt slowly leading to a stone oven. It's the witch's idea of payback for cooking her sister alive. Her sister was eating children for goodness' sake, her death was good for everyone, surely? Well, the witch certainly didn't agree, and Emma had been foolish enough to let the her get the best of them, and now here they are.

"Thought you didn't need my help," Killian says. His tone is petulant and annoyed and goddamnit, they don't have time for this, so she elbows him in the side as best she can within the confines of the chains.

With a heavy, put upon sigh, he says, "We'll roll off."

Before she can argue just how _bad_ an idea that is - it's a good five foot drop - Killian pulls her backwards and twists them both off the conveyor belt. He lands beneath her and lets loose a smothered "oomph" of pain. Emma rolls enough to give him breathing space and then says, "And the chains?"

"Seems to me like my help is exactly what you need." He sounds far too amused. "Ay!" he shouts when she tries to hit him again. How she could ever find this insufferable idiot attractive is beyond her. She is frustrated, tired, bruised, and hungry, and he's acting like they have all the time in the world.

"Just get us out of this so I can kill the witch and go to bed," Emma snaps.

"To bed, now that sounds like a lovely idea," he says.

She can't believe that he's doing _this_ now, and she can't believe that she actually - _goddamn him_. Completely and 100% done with him, Emma is about to break through the chains with sheer willpower alone when he says, "Fine. Hold on, sweetheart."

He wiggles behind her. The conveyor belt creaks loudly, but Emma swears she can hear the witch's approaching footsteps. He makes an "ah" noise and moments later, the chains fall and hang loosely at their sides.

She pushes them off completely and starts to stand. "What in the hell did you do?"

He follows her to his feet."It's a pocket metal corrosive. Developed it myself. It eats through metal but is harmless to the touch."

She doesn't have time to be impressed now, but can't help the pride that flares in her chest like she did it herself, and what the fuck, she _so_ did not sign up for this.

"I didn't marry you," she hisses.

"No, you didn't," he says like it's obvious, and it's not, he isn't getting it, and she's about to do..._something_, when the witch storms in on a fucking broom this time and this day keeps getting better and better.

Her sword is across the room, but it would be useless in this situation anyway with the witch soaring around the factory, throwing fireballs and other magic spells at Killian and Emma while they duck and run for cover.

"Any other bright ideas?" she asks as they hide behind the conveyor belt. She tries to keep her tone neutral, even light this time, and Killian must notice her efforts because he smiles and says, "I knew you knew how to ask nicely. Yes, actually I do have an idea."

And that's when the idiot climbs on top of the conveyor belt and lunges for the witch as she flies by.

_He's actually insane,_ Emma thinks, dazed by his speed and the strength it takes for him to knock the heavyset witch off her broom.

She watches them grapple for a moment, still in a stupor.

"Emma, love, as much I appreciate that look, this witch is trying to _bite_ me," he grits out like he doesn't have _her_ teeth marks on his inner thigh.

His words knock her back into reality though. She runs across the room, picks up her sword, and runs back. In one fell swoop of her blade, she separates the witch's head from her body just as she tries to bite Killian's face off. Blood, green and awful smelling, splatters everywhere, but mainly on Killian who splutters and curses and shoots a glare in her direction that only makes her laugh.

"You're awful," he says, but he is laughing too, and even covered in witch blood, he's handsome and yeah, she actually does remember now why she likes him.

"Come on."

She offers him a hand to help him stand and he takes it.

"Food? I'll pay," she says.

"That's not much thanks," he says, scratching his chin. He raises an eyebrow, eyes innocently wide, and taps his mouth with his finger. "Is that really all I get for being so _helpful_?"

"I'm not kissing you covered in that," she says, turns around to hide her smile, and starts to walk out of the factory.

"But later?" he calls after her.

"Maybe."

* * *

"I'm not marrying you," Emma says when they're tangled together in the tavern bed, dirty in a way that Emma actually approves of this time.

"You could if you wanted to," he says, laying it out like it's nothing.

Perhaps it is.

"I don't want to," she replies softly, but she knows he gets it, because he says, "Alright," and stuffs his face into the crook of her neck and lets her arms encircle him so they can both drift off to sleep.


	3. but my knees get weak

**title: **but my knees get weak

**summary: **he's working at his forge.

**notes: **this was the original summary: _smutty smut. aND FEELINGS?_ smh at myself. part 3 in emma and killian: witch hunters.

* * *

He is working at his forge.

And here's the thing about Killian when he works at his forge, when he's pulling the swords from the fire and hammering them into the beautiful works of art that all his blades are - here's the thing: when he works at his forge, Emma can't look away.

Which is why he does it, she supposes. It is why he makes them go back to his village in between witch hunting gigs. He says it's because he likes the feeling of his own bed, but Emma knows that isn't true because he usually stays in the tavern with her (he's working on wheedling her down on that particular issue; it all goes back to the marriage thing, and they may share a bed on the regular but they're certainly not getting married and moving in to his house together or anything ridiculous like that, no, nope, no).

No, it's not because of that, so it must be because of the way she stares at the corded muscles in his arms as he works. "You make my knees weak:" a dumb phrase if there ever was one, but, _well_, yeah she kind of has to sit down when she watches him.

She has given up pretending that he isn't the only thing she has her eyes on. The first couple of times, she attempted to do other things - counting her payments and coming up short each time because she kept sneaking glances at Killian, attempting to shine her blade only to end up nicking herself because her focus wasn't there. At this point, Emma just sits there, telling herself that it is just because of his skill that she finds herself watching him like a hawk stalking its prey.

Killian smirks, and Emma scowls.

Okay, so maybe that isn't the only reason she watches him. She wants him, a constant need that feels like an itching underneath her skin to reach out and touch, whether it is just to place a hand on his arm to stop him from running into danger headfirst or whether it is to run her fingers through his tousled hair after a particularly satisfying kiss. She just _wants _him any way she can have him.

And right now, watching him slam the hammer down, over and over again, working over his bottom lip with his teeth as he focuses on the task at hand, Emma knows exactly how she wants to have him.

She bites her lip too, echoing him. She clears her throat loudly and then starts to hum as she casually begins to unbutton her top.

"What are you doing, love?" he asks without looking up.

"Nothing," she says, masking her voice in innocence to draw him in.

He sets his hammer down and by the time he lifts his gaze to look at her, her shirt is halfway open, revealing what he's called many times, "her delicious curves."

"I've learned that with you," he says, crossing his arms over his bare chest, "nothing always means something. Why are you taking off your top?"

"It's hot in here. Aren't you hot?" She fans herself with her hands.

His lips tremble as he fights a smile, and playing her game, he says, "Yeah, it is rather hot in here. I'm sweating from the heat of the flames."

"Are you now?" Emma says, stepping towards him. When she is close enough, standing on the opposite side of him and the giant anvil, she reaches out a hand to run her finger down his chest. "Oh, you _are._ Perhaps you should take a break, cool down a bit."

"And how will I be spending this break?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

Hand still resting on his muscled stomach, she slowly runs her thumb up and down his skin. With an audible sigh, she pulls away and starts to walk towards the stairs leading up to his home. She doesn't hear him following, so she turns, throws him a grin, and says, "How exactly do _you_ want to spend this break?"

"How exactly do I - _hell_, woman," he curses.

Emma laughs as she listens to him move behind her. She climbs the stairs, knowing that he'll be following right behind her.

It isn't long after she has reached his bedroom that she is tackled from behind. Only quick footwork saves her from ending up sprawled on the floor, but as it is, she falls on her hands against the bed. Killian leans over her, hips pressed against her ass, and reaches around her to unbutton her shirt. His lips find the back of her neck, and he kisses her wetly. His beard drags against her skin. The raw feeling of the little hairs needling her neck feels good. She pushes back against him, rubbing her ass against him until she can feel his erection pressing into her.

He grinds into her, humping her through their clothes and when his fingers finally loosen the last of her buttons, she pushes him off of her so that he's standing fully on his feet. She rolls over on the bed to face him and slips the shirt off her shoulders. Emma has long since given up on wearing a corset. The warm air rolls over her newly bared skin, making her nipples pebble.

She tries to find his eyes, but they're too busy raking over her body. She kicks off her boots and finally, he drags his gaze away from her breasts to look her in the eyes, and she says, "You done?"

"Haven't even started."

He steps forward into space between her spread legs and tilting her chin with his hand, leans down to kiss her. Her hands reach out to rub his haired chest, sliding over his nipples until they peak just like hers. She wants to kiss him all over, but she settles for letting him explore her mouth with his tongue. His lips are chapped and rough against her softer ones.

It's over all too soon, and he pulls away, leaving her sighing like some kind of swooning maiden. He reads the indignation on her face and laughs, his hand still resting on her chin. He rubs his rough thumb along the sharp curve, just the way she likes it and then pulls away altogether.

She places her elbows on her knees and rests her chin in her hands, watching him while he slips out of his shoes and slowly starts to divest himself of his pants. With a devious smirk, he pushes his pants down his hips. _Stop that,_ Emma tells herself as she feels the blush, hot on her skin. He isn't wearing any underwear, and even though Emma knows this is the norm for him, she still gets..._heated_ each time she sees him, his cock hard and straining towards her.

"Am I putting on a show for you, Emma?" he says. His pants are still on his hips, his hands resting right atop the edges. Watching his cock bobbing between his legs, Emma sighs and shifts, uncaring that he can see just what he does to her - and why should she care, when the evidence of what _she_ does to him is staring her right in the face.

"This isn't much of a show," she says, her voice roughened with arousal.

He huffs. Emma draws her gaze from his cock, back up to his face just in time to see the new smirk break across his face.

His hand moves, and Emma glances away from the heat of his gaze to watch him grasp the base of his cock and slowly slide his hand up until it is resting just beneath the pink head. He repeats the motion, slides his hand back down to the base, and then back up, this time squeezing tightly when he reaches the head, causing little droplets of precum to leak out.

Emma licks her lips.

"Better?"

Without taking her eyes off of his cock, she says, "It could be."

He laughs and then slides the fist forward so that he can rub the head of his cock with his thumb. He gasps then, and Emma finally pulls her eyes away to see the muscle throbbing in his tight neck as he tries (and fails) to stifle a groan.

Emma bites back a whimper, and darts her gaze back to his cock as he strokes harder, in a twisting motion that she knows he likes from her own exploration of his body. He's close, she can tell from the way his hips keep pushing forward, following the motions of his hand, but she doesn't move, not until he squeezes tightly and groans again, louder and longer than before.

She looks up at him to see his eyes focused solely on her as she moves from the bed and drops to her knees in front of him.

When she takes him in her hand, he shudders, but not as hard as he does when she guides the head of his cock into her mouth, tracing circles into the beaded skin with her tongue. His hips jerk forward, pushing more of his length into her mouth. She doesn't mind, just starts sucking him tightly.

She pulls her head back to run her tongue along the underside of the head, and then pulls off all the way. Her hand is still on his cock so it's easy to just hold him steady while she licks down the vein pulsing on his length. The skin moves with her tongue, and that has always amazed her, how a cock can be so hard, yet still so soft to the touch.

When she moves back up his length to take him into her mouth again, his hips jut forward, this time forcing the head of his cock against the entrance to her throat. He whispers her name and fists his hand in her hair. Dissatisfied with that, Emma swallows him down into her throat. It burns just a little and she breathes in shakily through her nose as he shouts her name this time. She pulls back, eyes watering from the need to breathe, but she can't help smiling around his cock because of how hoarse he sounded, how _she _made him like that.

She sucks in a deep breath, and then starts sucking and nipping at the head of his cock. She swirls her tongue around it as his taste grows stronger in her mouth.

"Emma," and the tightening of his hand in her hair are the only warnings she gets before he comes down her throat. She rushes to swallow it all, trying not to choke.

"_Emma,_" he says her name on a sigh.

She pulls away, looks up and has to blink and look away because his gaze is just too much for her, not when she can feel her clit throbbing, not when she realizes belatedly that her other hand has been playing light circles on her clit for a little while now.

His hand leaves her hair to stroke against her cheek. Killian bends down, offering her a hand to stand, but when she comes to her feet, he lifts her up against him and walks her back to the bed (somehow - how he can do it with his pants halfway down his hips, she doesn't know).

Emma wraps her legs around his waist so that when he drops her onto the bed, he falls with her. They struggle for a minute as they adjust themselves on the bed, and when they finally get into a good position, laying side by side, facing each other, Emma grabs him by the chin and pulls his mouth to hers. He pushes his leg between hers and returns the kiss with as much fervor as Emma.

Soon, the fervor dissipates, but the passion remains, and they kiss, slow and lazy for long, long minutes. With his knee between her legs, Emma grinds against him without shame. Killian holds her to him tightly, his arm thrown around her, his warm, scarred hand splayed across her bare back.

Emma's grip on his shoulder is just as tight. She savours his kiss, and as much as she wants more, she can be patient, so she kisses and grinds against him until a long while later when his hips start moving too. He finally pulls away and says, "I want to taste you."

She fixes him with a look as he pushes her onto her back and climbs atop her. "Isn't that what you've been doing for the past half hour?"

"Snide remarks will get you nowhere, love."

"Except exactly where I want to b-be," she says, her voice hiccupping when his mouth clasps around her throat. He sucks hard, painful and bruising and then kisses over the mark, soothing it with his teeth and tongue.

"Hmmm, I suppose you're right," he says. He continues to kiss her even as his hands find her pants and start to push them down past her waist. Emma helps him, wiggling free of her pants and finally kicking them off her feet.

"You are exactly where you want to be. Right here with me."

Emma feels the blush on her skin again, but his tongue is busy moving down her neck towards her collar bone and she can't focus on both things at once, not when he is also trailing the rough pads of his fingers along the underside of her breasts. No, she can't focus at all, except on the feeling of being touched and kissed by him, the way he makes the heat rise underneath her skin.

He moves lower, touching, rubbing, and kissing at every bit of exposed skin he can reach. Emma moves her hands to his face and strokes his cheeks on her way up to fisting her hands in his already tousled hair.

His mouth covers her right breast. She moans as he licks over her hardened nipple. He doesn't start sucking until she pushes her back forwards and into his mouth, and even then, he laughs around her breast and then sucks her nipple tightly, giving her the pressure she needs. She can feel his cock, hard against her knee, and it just adds to the heat tightening her belly, makes her clit ache all the more.

Killian's fingers are rubbing her sides and now they're sliding lower to caress her ass through her underwear. She doesn't know why he hasn't taken them off yet, until his hand slides over her thigh in between her legs and he pushes her underwear aside and slips a finger inside her already wet pussy.

He switches gears, turning his attention away from her breast to move his mouth lower as he thrusts his finger in and out of her. She wants him to play with her nipples more, but his finger inside her is distracting enough that she doesn't mind when he just kisses the underside of her left breast before continuing his path downwards. Before long, he adds a second finger to the one making her breath catch.

"You're insatiable," he hums into her skin. He licks at her belly and then bites down, marking her with his teeth as he has done so many times before. "I love it. Love how much you want me."

"Uh-huh," she agrees mindlessly. His fingers are still stroking her insides, thick and hard and curved just right. His knuckles rub her walls each time he pulls his fingers out and pushes them in, and it feels so good that her belly tightens, her walls fluttering around him with every movement.

He lays kisses on her and nuzzles her skin with his nose. His hot breath only adds to the heat swirling and tugging at her insides and as he moves even lower, she sighs long and low.

"_More_," she says and pushes her hips off the bed to illustrate her point.

He chuckles and lays his rough cheek against her. She looks down at him, meeting his crinkled eyes.

"So needy," he says. "So very needy."

"Killian," she huffs. He has stilled his fingers inside her and how dare he when she's so close, when she wants it so bad that she drips around him.

"Emma," he mocks her tone. She narrows her gaze at him, which only makes his eyes crinkle more as he grins like the devils that they hunt. "I want to hear you beg, darling."

"Oh, Killian, please, I need you so badly," she says in a monotone. She may be turned on, but she isn't willing to give him what he wants just yet.

He rolls his eyes, amused. "I give that a 0 out of 10. Try again, love."

She shakes her head negatively, but then his fingers pull out of her, just enough to make her really feel it - she needs this, really needs this.

"Killian, _please_," she gasps, genuine this time.

He pulls his fingers out all the way, making her gasp again, and then rises above her. Lifting her knees high, towards her chest, he edges up to her. "Hold your legs, Emma," he says, and she does, gripping them tightly to her breasts so that he can get the angle right.

When he thrusts inside her, she shifts against him, urging him on before he has even barely started. She's a little desperate. She has been on edge for a long while now, ever since she started watching him at his forge, and now that he is inside her, she doesn't want to be patient any longer. She wants to get off, wants his fingers on her clit while his cock pumps in and out of her.

"Killian," she demands, meets his eyes to see him studying her with a look of concentration, his brow furrowed together, lines written into the skin of his forehead.

"Hold on, love," he says.

"_Killian,_" she demands again, pushing her hips up again as best she can with both her legs up and her hands wrapped around them.

"Alright, alright," he says, like he's annoyed, but there's a strain to his voice that makes it clear just how much he needs this too, a thready gasp to his words.

He wraps his hands around her hips, lifting her body higher and dragging her to him so that her feet rest against his chest and he is buried fully inside her. Emma rocks against him, trying to ride him, even in this position. Instead of fucking her, he pushes her legs to the side and moves between them so that he can lean over her and kiss her.

"Killian, come on," she says when she is able to drag her lips away. God, she wants this, she wants everything from him, really, but it isn't what she _needs_.

Finally, _finally,_ he pulls up and drags out of her, setting up a good pace that has him filling her and spreading her, making her eyes shut in pleasure.

"You know," he starts to say, words thick with the arousal she can feel pumping away inside her. "I do it on purpose."

"Do what?" she asks without opening her eyes.

"Make you come here. I just like the way you look at me when I work. You appreciate it - and the way you look at me, gods, Emma, you set me aflame."

"Mmmm," she says in favour of an actual response.

He sighs, leans over her again to skitter kisses along her chin while he pounds into her. "I want you to always look at me like that," he murmurs.

His words hush the moan trying to escape her, make her blink and try to find his eyes as he pulls away again.

"Yes," she says when she can look into his deep blues.

"Yes what?"

He stills inside her as realization dawns in his widening eyes. "_Yes_?"

"Yes."

She smiles and shuts her eyes again as thrusts into her so hard it pushes her up the bed. She probably shouldn't make decisions when he is making pleasure thrum in her veins as easily as he bends the metal of his blades to his will. But - it just feels right, right now, with his words echoing in her ears, and with the voices that usually tell her she would regret it, that it wouldn't work out, with all of them hushed for the first time -

It feels _right_.

"You're bloody brilliant, amazing, wonderful, _perfect_, Emma."

She moans when he reaches between their bodies to rub her clit in rough circles. His compliments have never hit so hard as they do now, and she writhes beneath him, coming hard and loud. He lasts longer than her, rides out her orgasm and pushes her over the edge again right before he comes inside her.

Emma's hands can no longer hold up her legs and he collapses atop her. Soon, he rolls off of her and she relaxes the muscles in her tired legs before turning to look at him. She never imagined she would say yes. But then again, she never imagined anyone would ever ask - and with such persistence.

"Don't take it back," he says, drawing her hand up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

She could think of a million things to say in response to that, a million ways to brush it off and pretend like she didn't mean it, a million ways to make his face, so open and hopeful, close off to her.

A million different ways to let him down.

"I love you."

He grins so wide that she can't understand why his face doesn't break with it, and then he surges forward to lay kisses on to her forehead, her nose, and finally her mouth. He traces his love into her skin with his lips, and Emma smiles because she doesn't regret this, no, not at all.


End file.
